


First Attempt (an insert from Aftermath)

by Carrimimi



Series: Casualty of the Crown [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Depressed Noctis Lucis Caelum, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Reference to Torture, Suicide Attempt, Suicide Noctis Lucis Caelum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 21:31:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13443804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carrimimi/pseuds/Carrimimi
Summary: He held the sharp knife in his right hand. He watched as the fading light glinted off the steel blade. Where should he do it? He looked around his immaculate suite.





	First Attempt (an insert from Aftermath)

**Author's Note:**

> This alludes to the 3rd paragraph (Ignis’ reference ) in chapter 2 of The Aftermath.

He held the sharp knife in his right hand. He watched as the fading light glinted off the steel blade. Where should he do it? He looked around his immaculate suite.  
With a heavy sigh, he headed for the spacious bathroom. It was cooler in there. It had pristine black marble floors and vanity, black porcelain sink and ornate tub, with gold faucets as the contrasting color. Large mirrors reflected the soft glow of the ceiling lights. Sliding the glass door of the walk-in shower, he entered and leaned his back against the cold tiles and allowed his body to slide to the floor, until he was sitting with his knees bent. 

He looked at the knife, still held in his right hand. He pulled the sleeve on his left arm as high as he could, exposing the soft white flesh underneath. He pressed the sharp edge of the blade against his pale skin. He could see his vein pulsing with each beat of his heart. Quickened, as he contemplated the act he was about to commit.

Life had always been so difficult for him. He was the Crown Prince. He had lots of responsibilities. His days were rarely his own! He suffered from horrible nightmares, which left him tired the next morning, unable to cope, but always tying to hide it. His nightmares were grisly. He would dream of his abduction and the atrocious torture that he was subjected to. His mind would constantly flash images and memories of his suffering causing bile to rise in his throat. 

He wasn’t the same since then. He would never be the same. Something was taken from him. His innocence. His dignity. His self-worth. His soul. He was broken. Yeah, sure, he was seeing a Psychiatrist. She had put him on so many different kinds of medication, none of which would erase the gruesome memories from his mind. His body was still covered in scars from the numerous cuts and burns. His voice remained husky by the trauma to his larynx. His eyes still watered easily. 

Every day, every hour, every minute, his mind could not escape the images. His mind was a wicked thing. It robbed him of happiness. Even on rare occasions, when felt cheerful or was laughing, his mind would briefly drop an image of his time in captivity to quickly extinguish any light he might have had.

He did try to open up a little bit about his two months of captivity to his Doctor. A little bit with his friends. Even a little bit to his Dad. But he never talked about the really bad stuff that happened to him. Oh no. The bad stuff was unthinkable to share. It was too humiliating. It was too disgusting. It was too hurtful. It was the stuff that would weaken his knees when his memories invaded his thoughts. The stuff that made him feel different! The stuff that made him feel dirty. The stuff that made him hate himself. The stuff that made him question his reason for being alive. The stuff that stabbed him over and over in the heart. Made him weak. Made him sick. Made him want to close his eyes and rest forever.

He was so tired of living like this. He was so tired of pretending that he was better. He was just so very tired. In hindsight, he probably should have done this sooner. Then his suffering would not have gone on for so long. But promises made by everyone saying that time would heal…allowed him to hope.

Quickly, before he could change his mind, he slashed the knife deep across his left wrist. Blood spurted out in a stream against the tiled wall. He watched as the blood pulsed out of his sliced wrist. He tried to take the knife with his left hand in order to slash his right wrist, but already his vision was dimming. He dropped the knife with a clatter to the floor. He slumped over, his head falling to the side. Closing his eyes, he began to feel at peace. Finally, his mind would leave him at peace, forever!

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this and for taking the time to read my works.
> 
> More Noctis hurt in my story “Solo”
> 
> Comments are read and answered.
> 
> kudos are like fairy dust...making me smile.


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